Easier out than in, or is it?

Teething. The bane of early childhood. The most common answer to "why is your baby screaming like a lunatic?" 

When our babies are little we hold them and struggle with them and cry with them through every minute of their teeth coming in. We seek advice, buy remedies, rock, snuggle and lose sleep. And then they become toddlers. When their molars come in, well darling... Just let me know and I'll bring the wine. Let's just say those days can be so long and so hard that years later you are willing to write a blog post lamenting their difficulty. 

But then. But THEN. Oh the audacity. These same teeth that took an eternity to work their horrible necessary selves INTO the mouth of your beloved first born start flying out once a week when he approaches his 11th birthday. Every other day this week has brought me yet ANOTHER tooth. Four this week. And I hate them. These horrible pieces of bone that I don't know what to do with ( seriously, they feel too sacred to throw away and too morbid to hold on to) they are taking over. Not cool teeth. Not cool. And the worst part? They are causing his sweet little mouth, the one I tenderly held ice and teethers and tablets and the forbidden orajel... This sweet little mouth is no longer sweet and little but older and teenagery and saucy and smart (in a good way). 

The same little teeth the bit my shoulder one unfortunate midnight feeding, these same precious teeth that chewed the Cheerios, rejected the peas and claimed many a pizza crust , these horrid little beasts have the gall to just fall out. Without even a to do. Without drama or consequence. Without even a fairy request. And I'll miss them. Oh man. I miss them already.